


Tick Tock Wafting Clock

by monsic_buffoon



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, WIP, slow build story, varrick origin story, varrick's arch, varrick-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsic_buffoon/pseuds/monsic_buffoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the story of a magnificent flourish! Of the fall before the climb! Of tears and laughter! The heartbreaking journey of a young, alarmingly handsome, water tribesman ---Well. It's a Varrick story. Buckle up kids, it's a long ride, and even he's not sure what happened for most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That's the Sound

It was a minuscule miscalculation on his part. A minuscule miscalculation whose result had him standing out in the freezing twilight air, instead of lounging by the bonfire in their cramped little living establishment. Iknik kept his back to the school-- the little round hut they called school anyway. Instead, he stood against the horizon, staring down the sun as it crawled away behind the never ending hills of snow.

 It had been written in the stars. The cruelest of destinies. A backhanded slap in the face by fate. As always, after weeks away, his father’s return home had been impeccably timed.

 He didn’t need to eavesdrop to know what was going down in there. What was to come. Cheerful, his future was not. Some hesitation would almost be appreciated if it weren’t for the fact that his skin was crawling in on itself in its desperate attempt to generate more warmth.

 One little miscalculation. One little sound. “Never test the prototype in public,” he reminded himself, then rolled his eyes. Frankly, there were more interesting things he could be spending his time on.

 He could picture them now, inside the hut, cramped together, conspiring about how generally awful he was as a tribesman. _Iknik Blackstone, the menace, the thief, causing destruction and disorder no matter where he was._

 A particularly threatening gust of wind whirled past him, picking up the mound of curls around his ears and brushing it in an even swoop over his forehead. At least inside the hut it’d be warm. Cozy for two, let alone the nine people that inhabited it on a day to day basis. The central city had a real school house. He’d walked past it once while visiting, Torna had pointed it out to him, and he remembered scoffing in the moment. There wasn’t a person on the continent that could teach him something he didn’t already known, and the size of the building that delivered it hardly mattered. In retrospect, he began to wonder if a bigger building would have a lobby he could wait in whenever his teacher got the overwhelming urge to discuss important matters with his guardian.

 The snow reflected orange against the melting sun. Iknik narrowed his eyes. It was a misleadingly hot color. The sharp edges of travel worn winds pricked at his cheeks turning them a darker shade.

 “Iknik.”

  _The penguin seal goes Bwak Bwak. The polar bear dog goes gauf gauf. The disappointed father goes…._

 “Pops!” he turned on his heels, smiling broadly, “How’d the meeting go?”

 His father’s face was grim, but that was to be expected. In fact, the entire scale of his father’s facial expression ranged from hesitantly nonplused to downright pessimistic. Kessuk Blackstone had been trained by generations of emotionally incompetent people. Emotions only interfered with the hunt, as did passions, academics, and other such frivolities. Suffice it to say, Iknik Blackstone was the sore thumb.

 “You’re a smart boy?”

 Did he need convincing--

 “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

 Iknik’s goofy smile twisted into a contemplative pinch of lips, “I’m guessing she wasn’t impressed with the bone remover-”

 “She said you smacked her in the face with a fish.”

 “To be fair, I never intended to smack her with it-- Not this time anyway-- There was a little blip in the blueprints, but don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about the new model all day. This one won’t be flinging any fish carcasses, you have my word!”

 “This isn’t about-” Kessuk growled a noise of frustration, “Her entire coat was covered in blood!”

 “That old smock? You mean she actually cared?”  

 The strong furrow in his father’s brow slumped, and it caused for an uncomfortable tingling to scrape down the back of Iknik’s neck. This wasn’t the arm flailing screaming match he’d been anticipating. Apparently his father had been experimenting with a new war tactic. Guilting. It was spilling out at them in a slow progression, as his father’s face shifted into something entirely new. 

“You’re turning seventeen soon,” his father announced as if it were some dreaded prophecy that had snuck up on him.

 “Another year, another inch.” An inch of height? An inch in the direction of the shore? The answer was supposedly a mystery.

 “That’s of age, son. You’ll be taking on your duties as a man of the Southern Water tribe.”

 “So goes the tradition-”

 “Iknik.” He knew already. He knew everything. “Your teacher says you’ve been skipping out on your training sessions.”

 How in the world had the old hag figured it out? She wasn’t even in charge of that sect of learning. Ikink’s eyebrow twitched, “Yeah well, she also called it Sozai’s comet, so you really shouldn’t trust all of her claims.”

 “Son.”

 “I mean it,” he lied plainly. Somehow it was easier to bend around the truth than admit certain facts to his father. “That woman has no idea what she’s talking about.”

 For a moment it seemed Kessuk would pursue the topic further. It was far from his smoothest line, and so the truth simmered on the surface. The man was clearly struggling with that faux calm again. When he spoke his voice was grudgingly patient. “I was planning to take Tanik on a hunt sometime soon. He’s getting to that age, it’s time for him to experience life outside of the commune.”

 Registering the ever obvious fact that his father had barely returned home, and was already planning to leave again, Iknik switch gears and concentrated on the present. Every statement had a purpose, and judging by his current circumstances his prospects were only so-so. Iknik stood, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, “Couldn’t agree more, little rascal needs to stretch his legs. It’ll be good for him.”

 “I want you to come with us.”

 Hook, line, and sinker. “Do you.”

 It was tradition amongst the tribe for the father to take his sons hunting. Some training was offered to the boys throughout their adolescence, but it was mostly the father’s duty to teach his son the ins and outs of the world. And their world revolved around a hunt.

 Kessuk had managed to coax his eldest along with him a few times in his late childhood, yet with each attempt Iknik began to understand more thoroughly how terribly miserable and pointless it was out there in the cold, hunting elusive game. Winters were only bringing the worst, and it seemed the animals were smarter than them, leaving while they still could. Not having been particularly interested in the act to begin with, he began rejecting his father’s invitations as they came.

 In heated moments, Kessuk never hesitated to challenge the topic, pointing out that boys Ikinik’s age had normally been on dozens of hunts, that his boy was expected to participate in the ongoings of the tribe as much as any other. It was, quite frankly, infuriating, and so Iknik turned without another word. His face was numb from staying out in the cold that long. He ignored his father as he sped after him, calling his name.

 “You’re coming hunting with us!” he shouted vainly over a new storm of wind, “And you will train with the others! You’re a man, Iknik, and it’s due time you start acting like one!”

 That’d be enough family bonding for one hour. One jolly welcome home surprise party.

…..

 In the off-center corners of the Southern Water Tribe, a small bundle of huts was situated between two large hills of snow. Within one particular hut, a family much too big for its location, cluttered around a table.

 At the head sat the father. He was rather large in stature, as most tribesmen were, with hair that grew out just past his neck. His features were strong and heavy on his face, though they seemed to brighten some ways as he watched his wife while she fruitlessly wrestled with their youngest child for the soup ladle.

 She was a quaint woman, with smooth curves that roamed up and down her body. They were made thicker by the heavy padding of her winter wear. The slowly draining years were treating her nicely, lining her face with a few thin crinkles, and salvaging her hair, keeping it as dark and black as it had been in her youth.

 The young boy at her side, the one who waved the spoon wildly above his head, was the smallest at the table. His hair was black as well, and his smile toothy. He was no more than five years old and the cold climate suited him. His baby fat rounded him out keeping him warm even in the harshest of winters.

 A second boy sat down the line. He was older, 12, soon to be joining the older children in their final classes at school. More importantly, he would be joining the other boys afterward for practice. He would train his physical abilities, in case a war ever broke out. Physically, the boy was blooming towards his prime. He was squared like his father, broad and fit for a fight. His eyes were bright and excited for all that was in store for him.

 Alas, the table curbed once more, with a third boy tipping off the balance. This boy was the eldest of the young, in fact the term ‘boy’ was questionable in reference to him. He was tall and limber, with long sharp features that differed from the others around him. His hair was a lighter shade, more brown than black, and his eyes slightly grayer in their blue. His smile, though present, was sharp. He was a remnant of a distant memory, a reminder for his father of a different time. A reminder of mistakes.

…..

 Inevitably, tensions began to fly again before dinner could really even start. Yuna, Tanick, and Taha all stared in a unified horror as father and son tore into each other’s throats harder than they ever had before. Their shouting grew to such volumes that a neighboring pet joined in with his hoarse bark. Kessuk cut the evening short summoning them all to bed, wasting the heat of a perfectly fine sea prune stew.

 There wasn’t much room to run away in their home. It consisted of two rooms, the bedroom, split in thirds by his father, Yuna, and Taha, and the main room. He and Tanick, as the two eldest sons, had drawn the short stick to sleep in the cold, on their thin summer-straw mattresses, rather than the warm bed in the other room. The soreness that he carried deep in his muscles, only pandered to the other excuses he had for brooding.

 Iknik stared at the ceiling in a petty silence.

 He only really knew two levels of sleep; the prefered deep and prosperous kind, and the ever bothersome, elusive one. More often than not, it was his ideas of productivity keeping him awake. This night his mind was filled with the concept of freedom.

 The dark swarmed in patterns above him. Or perhaps that was the smoke of the dying bonfire. Iknik huffed in frustration then jerkily flipped onto his side, directing his furious glare at the wall beside him.

 He’d said things he shouldn’t have, or yelled them was a more accurate term. He’d lost control in a way that he strived to never do. Now, a pesky little voice began to batter at his mind, tugging him in an everlasting back and forth.

 “Niki?”

 The sudden interruption caught him off guard. He perked up, and immediately flopped to his back again.

 “Niki?”

 “’m trying to sleep here, kid,” he said, making his voice sound as groggy as possible.

 “No you’re not,” the kid accused.

 “I _am_.”

 “If you were you’d be out by now, and the polar whales would be joining in on your song.”

 “Just what are you implying?” Iknik gasped indignantly.

 “That you’ve got some serious rocks stuck up your nose,” Tanick explained, unnecessarily.

 “Well you know what, _Tani_ , I can hear your gas through the walls, so can it with the inflamed sense of righteousness.”

 There was another long pulse of silence, but Iknik knew they weren’t finished. His brother’s words were generally short, but his thoughts were long winded. An interesting contrast to his own lengthy patterns of thought that tripped out of him without a filter. The kid laying a mattress away had his heart in the right place. Unfortunately, Iknik wasn’t in the chattiest of moods that evening. He maintained the silence, closing his eyes, with a vain hope that maybe Tanick would get the point.

 “Niki?”

 No such luck…

 “Nik-“

 “Spirits, kid, what is it, what do you want?” he barked with a sharpness that, that goodnatured attitude plainly didn’t deserve.

 “Was Dad mad about what happened in class?”

It was much harder to get away with things now that the bugger was a part of the nine scrunched in his school hut. Iknik flipped to his stomach, then stretched his legs out as far as the space would allow. His feet poked out from under a patched blanket.

“That?” he scoffed, “He’s used to these things by now.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Tani,” he promised though dinner had been an indication of the exact opposite.

Another pause whittled away before Tanik spoke again. His voice was quieter, more resolute. “No one calls me Tani anymore.”

“And you’re the only one who’s ever called me Niki.”

There was a chance that he’d won. That the kid felt battered enough, but of course he fumbled back in for more

“Hey,” his voice was laced with a new kind of flatness.

Iknik hummed into the dark walls of the hut, closing his eyes again, and preparing to fake snore if it got him out of answering more questions he didn’t feel like talking about.

“You’re not gonna… go anywhere are you?”

Hesitantly, one of his eyes peeked open, “What’s this?”

“I mean-” Tanick sounded abashed. Iknik imagined he was screwing up his face the way he always did when he worried about breakfast or lunch or something of that nature. “You’re not gonna leave us, right?”

Some inexplicably constricting claw rapped around his windpipe, cutting off his response.

“Niki?”

“No,” he finally managed after a moment, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	2. Nine Months to Lose Your Nerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the story of a magnificent flourish! Of the fall before the climb! Of tears and laughter! The heartbreaking journey of a young, alarmingly handsome, water tribesman ---Well. It's a Varrick story. Buckle up kids, it's a long ride, and even he's not sure what happened for most of it.

_“You’re leaving?”_

_Her slender fingers smoothed the furrows ingrained in his face. “Of course I am.”_

_“But-”_

_Her smile cut him off. “This iceberg can’t hold me down. You know it can’t.”_

_“I… need you.”_

_Her eyes glimmered so beautifully by the glow of the fire. “You’ll forget about me.”_

_“I won’t.”_

_Her back was bare, and narrow. He wanted to catch her. To keep her by his side. “You will. In due time.”_

_“Neya...”_

_She’d always be five steps ahead. She would never be his._

…..

An island of pure green floated over a ruthless sea. It was a small little nook of the world where the frosts of winter never lasted long, and the summer breeze was sweet. It was perfect for those who inhabited it. The comforting landscape a temporary substitution for other absences.

A yellow shore lined the edges by the water, and beyond that lay a narrow path. Any traveler with the right destination in mind knew what lay at the end of the path. A farm, a home. Of sorts. Those who lived there were not a typical family. There were people in charge, an old man and an old woman, and then there were children, lost or abandoned young ones with nowhere better to go. There they were fed, they were a given places to sleep, and once they finished their chores for the day they were free to run and play as they liked. The lucky ones, that is depending on one's definition of luck, were noticed by visitors, young couples, old couples, all of whom had acknowledged the missing pitter-pattering feet in their lives. The rest of the children remained until they had grown so large there was no more room for them to stay.

One rather small boy had been too young to notice the pattern that had developed within the couples that came. Though they looked, and devoted equal attention to each child on the farm, they left with the one that looked most similar to them. Their eyes, their hair, the color of their skin, the shape of their face. The smallish boy was a brand of person unique to only two other corners of the world. Though they kept their concerns to themselves, the old man, and the old woman feared that this particular child would have to grow out of his youth before he began to live his life as he was supposed to, off of the island.

He was an interesting sort; exuberant, curious, and tricky with an energy that exceeded his size. He was too fast for them on every level. Oddly, it turned out that the only thing that could supply him with any form of calm, was an old ostrich-horse. It had lived on the farm longer than any of the other animals, and was used to children of all ages causing a ruckus. The animal seemed to hold a special fondness for the boy as well, as it would often follow him around the farm, and watch over him. They made for an unlikely pair, and yet the combination kept the little torpedo of a boy at bay.

One day, something unheard of occurred on that quaint, little farm. A large man, dressed in blue clothes far too warm for their climate, beached a canoe on those yellow shores.

He was a man with a mission slightly different from those other visitors. He had been horrified by what he might have found. When he entered through the front doors of their humble home, he spoke frankly to the old woman and the old man. He relinquished the details of a story that covered six years of confusion and living in the dark.

When he finished his tale, the two exchanged solemn looks. The man seemed earnest in a fear that shone clear in his eyes. The old woman turned without any further questions. She walked towards the stables. It was where the boy was usually found that time of day. When she called him from within, he was given no indication that he had just played with his unlikely friend for the last time.

He walked towards the house a few paces ahead of his guide, and energetically rambled on about his plans for the day. Of course, this was all cut short as he stepped through the doors of the kitchen and saw for the first time in his life a man that looked more like him than anyone he’d ever met before. The boy’s thin eyebrows knitted together in suspicion. Across the room the strange man stood with a similar expression portrayed on his stony face.

The boy, exactly six years old as the math had proved over and over again, looked nothing like him, except for the obvious collection of traits that every member of the tribe shared. A part of the man wanted to turn and leave then and there. He could pretend that none of it had ever happened, his wife at home would only smile for the better. When they’d found out about the boy’s existence, she hadn’t wanted him to go at all.

Unfortunately, the unfamiliar child was his duty, as much as _they_ were back home. This was one hell of an obstacle, and now that he’d laid eyes on him, seen the proof of him, he would never forget the startling light eyes that stared at him in the moment, full of wonders and questions.

“Iknik,” the old woman said placing a hand on the boys shoulder, “This is your father.”

“Iknik?”

The name slipped from his mouth like a question, catching them all off guard.

“That’s what… The woman who brought him to us. She told us that was his name.”

 _She’d_ named him by a name that belonged to _his_ family. Baffling woman.

And baffling boy. He stood grounded before the lady that had watched him for his entire life. His lips were pressed together in a firm line, keeping any words from breaking away, and his eyes glared with an unusual fire.

“What’s the matter with him?” the man grunted. “Can’t he talk?”

It was a question the old woman never thought she’d hear. Not one directed at the little boy standing between them.

“Oh he certainly can,” she laughed a gentle creaking laugh, “Don’t you worry about that, sir.”

The young boy whipped his head in her direction and glared accusingly. It made her smile stretch even further.

“Go on now,” she nodded, “Say hello.”

The boy remained silent. But he turned, slowly, and reluctantly, he faced the hulking stranger once more, and narrowed his bright eyes. It was a familiar expression, but one the man hadn’t seen in a very long time, not for six years.

With a bracing sigh, the man stepped towards the boy. He bent one leg to kneel in front of him, and look him in the eyes.

“My name is Kessuk Blackstone of the Southern Water Tribe. My father was Iknik Blackstone, and you are my son. You will come with me, and live out the rest of your days at our home. Where you belong.”

He’d never know, but those words would define that boy for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, they had the very opposite effect than the one that Kessuk Blackstone had intended.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. This story is nonlinear XD
> 
> I tried to make the past as clear as possible... If you have any questions about what happened feel free to ask.


	3. Friend or Foe Doesn’t Mean Much as Long as Punching is Involved

It was a common knowledge among the people of the Southern Water Tribe that the retired Admiral Nanuq was a blossoming young man’s worst nightmare. He was the hellfire of the South Pole, training the boys for their future with a precise severity. He had this uncanny ability to know exactly when to strike so that a recruit was lowered to his very worst by the end of a fight. The man was an expert in how to degrade, and most importantly, how to kick his leg out just in time to catch his opponent off guard, and send his ass sprawling into a pile of snow.

However, it was only Iknik’s cozy little corner of the tribe, Admrial Nanuq’s place of retirement, which remembered: The old codger was nothing in comparison to his granddaughter, Torna.

And there she stood by the entrance gates of their little training spot in place of her grandfather. The boys-- all but one of course --dropped whatever childish prattle they’d been juggling beforehand, and stood at attention, presenting themselves respectfully, as if the teenage girl were further in the hierarchy than her nationally renowned grandfather. Iknik, because he was fairly comfortable despite the cold, remained seated in the sweet little pillow of snow he’d crafted earlier.

“Admiral Nanuq has been summoned to the central city by the council of elders,” she declared in a concise manner that was strictly her own. “I’m sure you’re all aware of what that means.”

This prompted a few nervous glances between the boys in the crowd. A small, but none the less fear inspiring smile spread across Torna’s lips.

“I’m in charge.”

Just as true panic was about to set in, Iknik released a shallow snort from the back of his throat.

“Oh,” he waved a hand dismissively. “You had me going for a second there. I thought someone had died or something.”

Torna narrowed her eyes as she turned to look at him. Iknik stared back with a default expression that Tanick labeled as his ‘crazy eyes’.

“Everybody. Partner up,” she commanded never breaking their measured staring contest.

Iknik pursed his lips.

It was well played, he had to-- well if not hand it to her, then at the very least think it. Their bunch was odd. That was, odd in numbers. When paired it usually left Iknik by himself, not because the others were annoyed by his occasionally snobbish attitude, but because he didn’t really like wrestling. He prefered to sit on the side lines, and test the velocity of various snow ball tosses while everyone else practiced for war.

Alas, as the boys stepped together in their usual pairs, Iknik was left alone.

With a begrudging breath he pushed up onto his own two feet, that way when she tried to loom menacingly he stuck up a head above her.

“Looks like you’re on your own,” she stated poisonously. She hadn’t even bothered to look around, just kept on with her glaring.

“One is never truly alone,” he countered. She squinted her eyes at him judgmentally.

“Cut the crap. I’ll spar with you for today. Get into position.”

He could feel the eyes of the other boys on him as they neglected to do what they were supposed to, and instead turned to watch the altercation. The air had a certain nervous energy to it. For the sake of his own never wavering confidence, he assumed they were worrying for their dear substitute teacher, and occasional friend, Torna.

Iknik cleared his throat.

He was going to be fine. Torna was aiming for his public humiliation. Of course the poor girl hadn’t been counting on his irrefutable charm. Oh yes, Iknik was a master of words, she had no idea what was in store for her.

“Torna,” he began, hands jumping to his hips rather than the basic defensive position they’d been taught to maintain in any fight. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes look this time of day? They’re uh--” he cocked his head while contemplating, “Very… Glittery.”

She said nothing. And the first strike came as a shock. Without any warning… or more warning. The girl was impeccably fast, just like her grandfather, and when her fist pushed squarely into his gut, all of the other boys flinched as a collective whole.

“Oof-”

Iknik folded slightly. His feet fumbled for a moment, rocking him back a few paces. However, he remained standing in the end.

“What?! You didn’t like-” he paused for a moment to cough out the pain in his belly. “Alright, no, you’re right, you deserve better than that.”

Torna humfed noncommittally, then kicked a spray of snow towards his face. He straightened out instinctively to protect his eyes from the sharp bits of frost. His eyes were a great asset to… basic day to day functions.

Her fists were raised at a proper distance from her face, they were gloveless. Iknik wondered if that was a deliberate choice so that the punches stung a little more. Her fingers were clenched tight, ready to deliver another blow if need be.

“Put your hands up,” she commanded fiercely.

Iknik, happy to comply, raised his hands above his head in an entirely different manner then what she’d intended. It was a form of surrender, and a move of desperation. Torna was not so easily dissuaded. She began to stalk towards him. Her glittery eyes were now dangerous slits.

“You know, I’m really not sure what it is, but something about you kinda reminds me of a canyon crawler.”

There had been no particular reason for the statement except to distract her from her plans of destruction. ( _He’d seen several photographs of a canyon crawler recently. They’d been nestled in a book he’d found within one of the crates of the merchants by the docks of the city. While Iknik wasn’t particularly fond of reading, those crates were goldmines for building supplies, and stories of a world the merchants had traveled to collect their stock. Theft was not an act that he condoned, and if the rumors about him were confirmed he’d never hear the end of it from his father. However, he’d learned details about canyon crawlers no other tribesman had ever known before, making him even more ingenious than ever!_ ) --But that wasn’t the point. The point was; there’d been a subtly violent glint in her eye, and ‘canyon crawler’ had been at the tip of his tongue.

A slight bump in his plan arose as canyon crawlers were one of the less popular critters of the world.

Judging by the flare in her _glittery_ eyes she’d assumed that he was insulting her. Perhaps he would’ve had better luck comparing her to a tigerdillo.

Torna jumped right as Iknik yelled, “No, wait!”

Words meant little in a fight. All the other boys tensed as the teenaged girl barreled into Iknik sending them both to the ground in a heap. Of course, Torna ended up on top of him straddling his previously badgered stomach. He wasn’t even given an opportunity to try and worm away.

He didn’t bother holding out much longer than that. Torna smacked him once across the face. He could tell from prior experiences that it was a half hearted slap. _Then_ , one of her hands tightened into a fist around his collar, pulling him up to punch him back down to the ground. The back of his head collided with ice.

It seemed as good a time as any to lose consciousness.

…..

There was a very unfortunate throbbing that clung to his scalp.

“Iknik.”

The pain was hellishly uncomfortable, and deeply rooted.

“Hey.”

The sensation only worsened as something, likely a hand, jerked his shoulder to and fro. The pitch black vision behind his closed eyes spun around him despite the lack of world to see. The muscles of his face contorted into a grimace.

“Hey he’s moving! He’s alive!”

“ _Shudup_ chipperdipper.”

“What the- What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Damn, Torna you really outdid yourself this time-”

“Everybody, _shut up.”_

He couldn’t help agreeing with the authoritative voice. His head was killing him, and a deeper sleep was much prefered to this ridiculous game of… words.

“Iknik Blackstone.”

Iknik Blackstone’s eyes cracked open.

As it turned out, this had been the wrong move to make. A foggy figure drifted into clarity, and as he swam further towards the tangible world he began to notice the details of a shaggy cropped bob, and a pair of dark indigo eyes that stared into the depths of his soul with a suspicious vigor.

Iknik couldn’t help himself. He’d only just drifted back to the state of the living, and Torna’s apprehensive glare wasn’t a sight of his dreams. A pitchy scream was released from so deep a place in his chest, the crowd of boys that hovered around them exchanged glances of surprise.

“Torna!” he gasped after a moment, then attempted to squirm away from her foreboding shadow with little success. “Come on, take pity on a guy! I need some breathing space!”

She looked even more perturbed than usual. It was possible that she hadn’t actually meant to make him scream that time. However, after the initial moment of contemplation she complied with his request, and sank back on her heels.

A congratulatory swell spread over him at his success, however not even the pleasant buzz of victory could drown out the continuous spikes of pain prickling at his skull. Every portion of his face tensed, even his nose, and his teeth were bared as the pain took him over.

“Shhhhhhhhiiiiiiii…”

It took a moment, but he realized the noise that very much resembled a deflating balloon was his own contorted sound of woe. Torna swayed on the spot, and he saw her twist towards the rest of the onlookers.

“Alright, that’s it.” Iknik’s eyes crossed as her voice echoed in his ears disturbingly.“Class is over for today. You’re all dismissed.”

And then she was back, hanging over him again.

“Alright, come on, Genius, you need healing water. I’m taking you home with me-”

A dangerous grin took him over, despite everything. Torna noticed just in time.

“ _Don’t._ Say anything.”

…..

“Oh! Ow! Jeeze, woman! Haven’t you hurt me enough already?!”

Iknik began to shout before Torna could even start the healing process. The orb of water levitated by his head dampening the ends of his hair as they curled away from his scalp. He’d been positioned to face away from her so that she could treat his wounds more easily. It wasn’t comforting to know that she’d been the one to injure him in the first place, and that he was expected to turn blind eye now that _she’d_ promised to ‘heal’ him.

Torna’s voice was pressed and measured when she spoke. “If you’d just sit still…”

“Sit still!” Iknik snorted derisively, “You know, I’m still not convinced you didn’t just reel me in here to catch a peak.” He gestured at his exposed upper body, with two gangly arms that were more lean than anything. He pinched his voice up to a higher octave, “But it’ll get wet if you don’t take it off- Yeah right!”

Torna rolled her eyes at the implication, “You really think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”

“Learn to recognize art when you see it, girly.”

As he blew steam into her head, Iknik had enough faith in his narcissistic reputation to know that Torna would never suspect more to his words than she needed to. The silence that followed caught him off guard, and the distinct creepy-crawly feeling on his back made him wonder what she was waiting for.

She spoke right as he was about to turn to look at her.

“Are you ready to try this again? And believe me it’s much more effective if you actually let it touch you.”

He sighed heavily, flattening out his lips as the air bustled out of him.

“Yeah, alright.”

Iknik braced himself for an unknown sensation.

Healers weren’t something his family could easily afford. The only member of the Blackstone family who had actually experienced the effects of the healing water was Kessuk. He’d been injured on a hunt, and Iknik remembered even then the captivating glow that had possessed the water as a middle aged woman moved over his father. Yuna, had been pregnant with Taha at the time, and Tanick had long since fallen asleep on a bench nearby. It had left Iknik alone with a woman that was not his mother, a woman who had never tried to be his mother. As the sky deepened its shade, and his father had yet to budge, the repressed worries of a boy weighed against him.

Torna was famous in their village for her fighting skills. Yet as a female waterbender, healing lessons were expected of her, just as Iknik was expected to fight. It was very likely that she wasn’t the best at her craft, but he took this gesture for what it was supposed to be. A roundabout apology for kicking his ass.

It didn’t stop him from stiffening slightly as the water finally floated over his head, instantly soaking his curls, and engulfing his injuries in an odd liquidy gauze. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make heads or tails of the sensation.

“You know, I was honestly surprised to see you there at all.”

He knew without asking that she was referring to the training session.

“Believe me, I was just as surprised as you were.”

“Oh?” Torna prodded, clearly not satisfied with his answer. For a moment it seemed the pressure over his head doubled, and a droplet of water trickled away from the orb to curve down the slope of his neck.

“Father dearest found out I was skipping out on the… thingamajig. He wasn’t pleased.”

Torna actually had the audacity to laugh at the proclamation. He himself found that the only funny aspect of the situation was her ability to find joy in his misery.

Iknik crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “You’re a real sensitive soul, Torna. I really cherish that quality in my local healer.”

She did not seem to react in the slightest, and another trickle of water leaked free from its captive bubble.

“He’s right to be angry.”

“Knowing how to throw a spear won’t do me any good in the future.”

The pressure on his head increased again. Iknik tried to flinch away, but the water stuck as close to his head as it had before.

“Hey, ease up will you?” he sidetracked.

Torna sniffed in response, but complied. His head returned to its previous heady state.

“You’re being trained as a warrior to defend your home if need be.”

Several contradictions stacked up in Iknik’s brain, but in the end he kept those thoughts to himself. Instead he chose to follow an easier path that called for no explanations. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” And he was no fan of grunt work. “My usefulness lays somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“In a mansion. Somewhere sunny.”

She scoffed. He was sure she’d have added that pressure again, if it didn’t mean slowing down the process, and spending more time with him than necessary. Unfortunately for her, he’d deemed the conversation far from over.

“You can’t possibly tell me you’d be happy living here for the rest of your life! Knowing there’s something infinitely better out there? _Heck, Torna!_ Even the North’s more metropolitan than us, and I hate those yuppie jerks!”

“I can.”

A pause hung between them as Iknik fought to ground himself again. It was a waste arguing with these people. His father’s reaction had been similar, angrier.

Torna worked in silence for a long moment afterwards. A small glob from within the water peeled away from the central orb, and inched it’s way towards a swelling bruise under his eye. Instantly the hurt ebbed as cool water floated over it.

“The Winter Solstice is coming up.”

“Woopie,” he mumbled sardonically, “Another Glacier Spirit Festival.”

“What if I told you this year’s gonna be different from the others.”

Intrigued, Iknik straightened out his posture, and fought the urge to look her in the eye. Torna was connected to the city through her family. If anyone could offer him some sort of inside scoop, it was her.

“Oh yeah?”

“What’d you think the council needed from a retired Admiral?”

She had a point, a point he’d brushed off earlier for the sake of going against the grain.

“Well what is it?” he quirked his eyebrow impatiently.

“We’re getting visitors from more than just the North this year. An admiral from the Fire Nation will be staying for a majority of the festival. My grandfather has been personally requested by the man himself to act as a guide for him when he’s here…. And I’m supposed to spend time with his daughter. Apparently she’s our age.”

It was incredible how flat her voice sounded as she relayed the news. Iknik, on the other hand, didn’t even bother to contain his excitement.

“You’re kidding me!” he jumped out of his seat without a second thought. Consequently, the glowing ball of water at his head went flying out of control. Droplets sprayed both the teenagers as a result of their close vicinity. Torna was the only one to seem at all perturbed.

“You’ll introduce us, won’t you, Torna?”

“- no.”

“Awh shuckeroni, this is gonna be great!”

“- no it won’t be.”

“This years Winter Solstice will be the best one yet!”

“-I highly doubt that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback? I felt weirdly, weird about this chapter.
> 
> BUT AS ALWAYS. Thank you so much for reading

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for choosing to read this fic :)
> 
> I just wanted to say, I'm trying my damnedest to fit things in a chronological order. Also to be as true to Varrick's story and voice as possible, while introducing some fresh ideas... Hopefully. Apparently, this is a very difficult task.
> 
> Just to be clear, this is a work in progress, and I'll do my best to update regularly.
> 
> As you can see, Varrick's the only real player from canon (as of this chapter), but that will all change in the future ;)


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